Attended Shafer's New York Public Library debut last night. He was wearing a suit coat, which totally deranged all my thoughts. On top of that, the reading was in this secret, ancient, wood paneled, little lamps on tables room that looked like a place where centuries-old men with walrus mustaches would hang out, discussing how best to subjugate the peoples of foreign continents. Shafer was sandwiched between two older and serious writers, so he was able to fulfill all stereotypical notions of the poetic rebel without even trying too hard. But we were glad for the surreality. And Dan Nester's lengthy, goofy, Voice-of-God introduction. Poems I heard: Evelyn's Kitchen, Rick Rubin Produces Something Other Than a Record, the one about Fiorello LaGuardia, the one(s) about Brooklyn girls, some NaPoWriMo poems. Afterwards, everyone flitted off to a bar, but I betook myself home, to sew stuffed monsters in garreted silence.
While in my garrett, I've been reading Gary Sullivan's new comic, Elsewhere. Fascinatingly weird nation of Japan, when will your uproarious misspellings, failure to understand the inappropriateness of words, and Boschian imagery not be the West's closest legal alternative to hallucinogens? Anyway, it's pretty darn cool.
In other news, I'm starting to worry about myself: my favorite comic that Jim Behrle has ever done is Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash. I never get sick of randy sticker pirates. Stupid funny is the best funny.
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